A Storm is Coming
by marcasite
Summary: He has never been good with silence. Words are his craft, his armor which he wields with a sarcastic smirk and a stark vengeance. But words tend to fail him in light of Clara. He never says the right things, he doesn't understand what he is supposed to do half the time and he always ends up waiting for her cues. So he says very little and he thinks these silences are creating a rif


Part of the "For Love of You Series", previous story was Look At The Heart of Me

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"_He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words."_

-Elbert Hubbard

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He has never been good with silence. Words are his craft, his armor which he wields with a sarcastic smirk and a stark vengeance. But words tend to fail him in light of Clara. He never says the right things, he doesn't understand what he is supposed to do half the time and he always ends up waiting for her cues. So he says very little and he thinks these silences are creating a rift between them.

Or it could be the air of coldness that has settled between them, some of which he acknowledges is his own doing. He doesn't know any other way.

There was music playing the night she knocks on the door of his bedroom, lips curling into a tentative smile as he opened the door. The Tardis drifting quietly, the peace between them is tentative. He glances quietly down at the floor, but steps aside to allow her access without a word. Since Christmas, their days have been filled with mindless adventure but their nights have been a quiet solitude apart. She is his home but he holds himself back, away from any stark declarations. He holds within him the stains of everyone he has loved and lost; Clara's loss will define him once again. He's waiting for it and holds that part for himself.

He knows that he holds too much from her and thinks maybe he should just let it burn.

She smells of orchids and wine, twisted together with a sadness that is palpable. He still doesn't say anything, his usual litany of words suppressed in the face of her quiet sorrow. The silence is oppressive between them, nothing that can easily be said, and nothing that can be easily understood. He is everything that she wants and nothing she needs. She is waiting for him to say something that will tie them together, to make them whole but he is not sure he is ready to say anything at all. Usually when he speaks; the words are there to create distance, to inflict small, biting wounds and he's not sure he wants to start this.

So he doesn't say anything at all.

She stays the night, arms clasped tightly around him. He doesn't patronize her, doesn't provoke and she finally falls asleep wrapped tightly in his embrace. He feels whole in her arms and it is in the small hours of the night, with the echoes of the Tardis surrounding them like a lullaby, he wonders if this is the start of a new life, a life that would only break them both in the end.

But he's misjudged her before.

It's only later, when he finds himself watching her in the console room, that he finds out how much he misses her. She rarely comes to his bedroom anymore, preferring the solitude of her own space. He misses the moments they would share, the quiet times they would spend together. Now, she usually leaves him alone while she spends the evenings wandering the corridors of the Tardis or reads quietly in the library. He knew that this would happen if they stepped outside the boundaries of their friendship, knew that he would fall in too deep. Two thousand years and he still hasn't learned. It's why he hurts her now, he thinks.

But he knows he's the fool, the one who asked her to come away with him. The one who treats her so distantly and knows he has no one to blame but himself.

So he tells himself that he can do this, he will change for her. He watches her, leg thrown over his arm chair as she reads. He calls her name softly and watches as hesitation gathers in her, not lifting her head from the book. She finally glances up at him, her eyes sliding over his frame, not quite meeting his stare. Once again the silence has settled over them, dark and full of unfulfilled promises.

He wonders when it started tasting so bitter sweet.

Finally, when she does look up at him and smiles, the smile he sees is genuine and for him alone. He thinks she's beautiful when she smiles and his hearts beat in time to the rhythm of her laughter. He is the idiot doctor he once called himself, because her smiles are worth every moment of pain to come and more fool he for causing them to fade even once. He points towards the console and once again, it's all of time and space.

He'll breathe in the echoes of her happiness for as long as he can.

Two weeks after that, he hesitates at her door, not sure if he really wants to do this anymore. But he remembers how it was, the whisper of her hair tracing a path along his skin; the cadence of her sighs as she slept against his neck, the warmth of her body next to his, and knows that she holds everything that he wants. Even if he has to steal it away one night at a time, it's time for him to stop running.

So he tells himself as he's finally sold away what's left of his soul.

He has nothing to say, nothing to add. So he stays silent and she smiles at him, understanding that they have gotten good at saying nothing at all. No words were needed, they have been here before and this is the path that would either break their hearts or save them. She'll lead him down the path, not unlike the white rabbit leading Alice to Wonderland. Hours later, as she winds her hands through his hair and the warmth of her sweet breath burns his lips; he decides that he could very possibly follow her anywhere.

But it's always the mornings, with its harsh light and quick reality, which causes the truth to burn in its wake. He has already shuttered his eyes, closing himself away from her. She watches him quietly while he moves around her room, avoidance evident in every single one of his movements.

He has gotten so good at leaving everything and nothing behind.

He stops by her side as he leaves, hand pressing quickly to hers. She holds it tight, eyes quiet and wide. He knows right then he is lost, he could never stand to see her eyes that way. She pulls him closer and he places his other hand on the bed to keep his balance.

"We can choose right now, you and I. Stay with me and let's see what happens. Go and don't come back. We can choose but we have to choose something." There's no hesitation, no regret in her voice.

He simply watches her, giving his silence as his answer to her. He still hasn't learned what to say but she understands him anyway. She sighs and lets his hand drop, turning her head away from him. It is in that moment, as her hand slides from his, that he knows she will leave him, leave the Tardis and this life behind. He feels the heaviness press against his chest and he realizes that he _has_ misjudged her after all. It was more than a game for her, there were no rules; he had only to make the right decision.

Too late, he understands what he did by choosing silence.


End file.
